Rose Thorns
by coonskin
Summary: Post ep for the Scent of Roses in Season 4. Michael returns after Stevie's death.


Devon woke early after sleeping restlessly. His thoughts were still with Michael even in sleep, as they had been nearly constantly the last few days. The last several weeks, in fact, since Michael had been shot and it became obvious that this time, he was not bouncing back as he usually did from injuries.

Devon remembered that first ominous sign. Michael had regained consciousness two days after being shot and nearly dying, had been weak but recognized both of them and asked if KITT was all right. Devon and Bonnie, leaving the hospital in relieved exhilaration, warned his nurses to be on guard because he would no doubt be plotting an escape from ICU before another day passed and defying every restriction they gave him. When they returned the next day, the nurses reported that on the contrary, Michael had been a totally cooperative and tractable patient, not questioning anything. Devon and Bonnie had looked at each other in startled concern, then both bolted for his room, leaving puzzled hospital staff standing there staring after them.

Then his long, slow recovery, his spirit obviously lagging behind his body. He had seemed to perk up with Stevie, even if he still wasn't fully himself, but they had truly been happy to see him showing signs of interest again, even at the cost of losing him. But then Stevie's death had shattered any mental healing so far, making things even worse than they had been, and Michael's friends had been worried sick about him since. Along with that came a little guilt, as much as Devon knew that was illogical. He had been the one to bring Stevie back into their circle, and he had known someone was trying to kill Michael even before he contacted her.

But most of his thoughts were purely for Michael. Durant had been turned in to the police, but nobody had heard from Michael since, and all channels to FLAG that KITT possessed had remained shut down. Devon was afraid for his friend, and that fear had nothing to do with Michael's value to FLAG. He was glad that Michael somehow had restrained himself from killing Durant with his bare hands, but with that fire, that mission burned out of him now, what remained? Would it be enough to live on?

After getting dressed, Devon walked downstairs to the door of the grand old mansion that was FLAG's headquarters. He usually started each day looking out the door at the drive, looking toward the gates, wondering what and whom this day would bring to them for help; the habit was too deeply ingrained to forgo, even when as today he had little room in his thoughts to spare for needy strangers. He jerked to a startled stop as he unlocked and opened the large front door. He stared blankly at the sleek, black form of the Knight Industries Two Thousand parked in the circle drive, then he literally ran for it. "KITT!" He headed for the passenger's side, and KITT obligingly opened the door for him. Devon settled into the right front seat. The left would always belong to Michael in his mind, whether the man himself was present or absent. "KITT," he demanded, "where is Michael?"

"Upstairs in his room, asleep," KITT responded. Devon sank back into the seat in relief. Michael was here. He hadn't just returned KITT to FLAG and headed off into oblivion on his own once his final mission was complete. "The last few hours are the first time he has been sound asleep in nearly three days. I would strongly recommend not waking him."

"No, of course not," Devon said. "I'll make sure everybody near that wing is quiet. KITT, how is he?"

KITT paused for electronic thought. "Lacking human emotions, I am not an expert on this subject, but I would say he is doing better. He still is not his usual self, of course. My analysis of grief reactions in human psychology indicates that such a process takes time."

"Yes, it does." Devon sighed deeply. "But at least he came back here. Voluntarily."

"Yes. He apparently has concluded that he wants to stay with his friends here, but he wasn't speeding for once on the way back. It was quite late last night when we arrived home; he almost fell asleep at the wheel a few times, although he insisted on driving. Not that we were ever in danger of an accident, of course; I would have intervened if it had been required. By the time we arrived, everyone else was asleep, and I recommended rest before he talked to you this morning. Given his fatigue and physical stress level, though, I hope that he will be able to, as he would say, sleep in."

"We will try hard not to wake him up until he does on his own. The sleep itself will help him start to process things."

"I have noticed how biological stress impairs all other levels of human functioning."

Devon opened the door again and stood up. "It does, indeed." He felt rather ragged himself after the late events. He could only imagine how drained Michael must feel. "Thank you, KITT." He patted the roof of the car. "Thank you for staying with him through everything."

"I am programmed to respond to his needs," KITT answered. Then, with the near-human side that scientists insisted was impossible for a mere computer, he went on. "Besides, I was very worried about him myself."

"I know. We all were. Still are, but hopefully, there is light at the end of the tunnel at least. If he's returned to us, we can help him as he gets through this. Can you tell me what happened with - not that it really matters, I guess. The end result of what happened with Durant tells me enough. And the fact that Michael chose to come back to us eventually after that is even better." Devon gave KITT another pat, then turned briskly back toward the mansion. He would make sure that nobody disturbed Michael's rest.

(KR)

Michael opened his eyes and looked around his own room at FLAG. For the first moments of sleep-logged disorientation, he thought that it had all been a dream. Then he knew that it hadn't. Then he wished that it had.

With a sigh, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He ran a hand across his face, then frowned. The light was all wrong as it came through the window. This wasn't morning at all; it was late afternoon. He looked at his watch - 4:45 - then glared at the figures. He had been asleep for 15 hours. He punched the button. "KITT," he demanded.

"Good morning, Michael," KITT replied promptly. "Are you feeling better?"

"Good morning, my foot. You know good and well what time it is. I told you to call me at 7:30."

"I did. It isn't my fault if you failed to respond."

"Yeah, right. Just how loud did you make that wake-up call?"

"No comment," KITT said.

"That's what I thought." He stood up, looking around the familiar room. "Traitor."

His partner couldn't leave that charge alone, as Michael had known he couldn't. "I performed every action you asked me to, Michael. You did not tell me to wake you up, nor to make sure you answered. You simply told me to call you at 7:30. Would you like to see the electronic log?"

Michael headed into the bathroom. "No, I believe you did it. It's how hard you tried that I'm questioning."

"You didn't specify any level of effort, either. Besides, you needed the sleep."

"KITT, sometimes I think you believe you're my mother." He stripped, then got into the shower, running it as hot as he could stand. The water pelted him, washing away some residue of the last few days, though he wished it could penetrate the skin and take all of it away.

Nothing could take all of it away. But it was better to be here than out there alone, adrift. The lesson had taken him years, but he had come to realize by now that even a loner needed family. At least he realized that most of the time. He studied his hands, the hands that had come so close to killing Durant, and he was glad KITT had stopped him, even though part of him still would have liked another chance to finish that job. Then he felt along the fresh gunshot wound scars on his abdomen, still slightly tender to deep pressure. He wasn't yet fully healed in more ways than one. They were far from the first scars he carried, but he knew these would always have special significance for him.

He stepped back out of the shower and put on the watch first as usual, then fresh clothes. He walked around his room for a moment and looked at his own clothes in the closet. His things were here, his new things, at least, the things that went with this life. He belonged here.

But he still wished the last several days had been a dream and that he could retreat to the days before that, his "vacation" on the beach, an interlude unlike anything he had ever experienced in either of his lives, no responsibilities, no deadlines, just love and companionship. The whole world had contained only him and Stevie - and KITT. He remembered Stevie warning him on the beach that there was such a thing as reality, and he flinched, hearing again his reply to her: "Not yet." No, those days had been the real dream. There was reality, and none of them had been able to escape it after all.

Finally, he left his room. They had to know he was here long since, of course. He had slipped in quietly last night, unlocking the mansion without alerting anyone, but they couldn't have failed to notice KITT today. Everybody had been letting him sleep, just as the car had. It was a conspiracy, but knowing they really cared warmed him a little.

At the office, he found Devon sitting at his desk doing paperwork, and he knocked on the open doorframe and, suddenly hesitant, waited for permission to enter. Devon looked up and broke into a broad smile. "Michael! I am so glad to see you again." He surged to his feet, crossing the room and closing the distance between them.

"I need to talk to you," Michael started.

"Yes, we'll talk, but not quite yet." Devon looked at his own watch. "I was just about to go to the dining room. Come and join me, my dear boy. We can come back here and talk after we have something to eat."

Michael suspected another conspiracy. "Just about to go down there? It looked to me like you were knee deep in paperwork."

Devon didn't bother answering that. "Come on, Michael." He gripped the younger man's elbow, steering him along the hall. "You'll be glad to know that I believe that the cook has been working on a pot of chili today."

"What a coincidence," Michael said. He didn't resist their course, though. Now that he took a minute to think about it, he couldn't remember the last real meal he had had.

His body apparently couldn't remember that last meal, either. He polished off three bowls of the chili, and in spite of the fact that Devon ate much less (and not chili), Michael wasn't that much behind him in finishing. Then, after he refused another bowl, the resident Foundation cook brought out a large slice of chocolate cake and urged that on him. Michael had to smile at her; she was a motherly lady in her 60s who treated all the Foundation employees as her children, and she had a long history of telling him he could use a few more pounds to go along with his height, but she was especially coaxing tonight.

The dining room was far from empty, and several people came up to tell him hello, but no one mentioned Stevie. He was glad of it.

Finally, he and Devon returned to the FLAG leader's office. Michael shut the door firmly behind them. Devon sat down behind his desk, and Michael resisted the urge to stay on his feet and made himself sit down in one of the chairs in front. This conversation wasn't going to be easy.

Nothing in the whole last month had been easy. The darkness yawned open again at the thought, and he pushed it away with determination. "Look," he started, "I know I told you I was quitting, but I'd like to apply for my old job again. I've got to have some purpose, something to do. I'm going to go crazy otherwise."

"You may have it back, of course," Devon said.

Michael eyed him, suddenly suspicious. "You hadn't even started looking for a replacement, had you? In the whole last month, have you even considered one candidate?"

"No," Devon admitted.

Michael was still raw enough that it was easy to get irritated. "Didn't you take me seriously?" he demanded. "When I told you I was leaving FLAG, I really did mean it. You all didn't believe me, did you? Were you hoping things wouldn't work out between us?"

Devon spread his hands soothingly. "Take it easy, Michael. Yes, we believed you, and we did take you seriously. I had accepted your decision and wished you the best. However, we also took Durant seriously. Not that we knew who was behind it at first, but it was obvious from the time of the attack on you in the hospital that someone was trying to kill you. There would have been no way to start interviewing other applicants for a field operative without needing KITT, and we wanted him protecting you."

"So you told him to stay with me."

"No, actually. We simply didn't give him any other assignment. Bonnie and I had no doubt that KITT would stay with you. In fact, I'm not sure he would have obeyed if we had recalled him to the Foundation. He knew you were in danger as well as we did."

Michael came to his feet and paced restlessly around the room. "Yes, you all knew that. I was the one who let it slip my mind for a little while." He remembered those seemingly idyllic days on the beach. Stevie. He should have remembered someone was after him and that anyone with him would be a shared target.

"Stevie knew all along," Devon told him. It was the first time anybody else had mentioned her today, and Michael felt himself flinch at the name. "I told her about the attack on you at the hospital that first day I went to get her. She wasn't unaware of the danger you were in - and that she was in herself by being with you. That was her own choice, Michael; we have to respect that."

Michael hit the end of the room and turned. "She moved in front of that bullet, Devon. She took it for me." The scene replayed in his mind yet again.

"I know. And she did that willingly, Michael. She wanted you to go on, to keep living. But her death was not your fault, nor mine for bringing her back here. It was Durant's."

Michael had stopped at the far end of the room, staring out the window into the darkness. Night had fallen by now. Devon was silent, and finally, Michael turned around again to face him. "I have to keep doing something," he repeated.

Devon nodded. "I understand. But I'll only ask this once, Michael, and I'll accept your answer. Are you sure you are ready - mentally and physically - to return to the field?"

Michael actually thought about it a moment. "Yes," he said finally.

"All right. Tomorrow, we'll look over the current requests and find a mission for you."

"Tomorrow?" Michael felt like he wanted a mission this minute.

"It's getting well into evening, my dear boy. Morning is so much better to start out a new case; you can introduce yourself to the people you need to talk to in the daylight. Besides, you can start out on a good night's sleep that way."

"I've been asleep all day," Michael snapped, still a little annoyed at KITT for that bit of deliberate misapplication of his orders.

"Ah, but that isn't a good night's sleep," Devon countered. "It was a good day's sleep. That doesn't count."

Michael couldn't help smiling briefly at the words. "What kind of logic is that?"

Devon stood up from the desk and came over to join him. "Things don't always have to make sense, Michael. In fact, they often don't. Not that I need to tell you that." He opened his arms as he got closer, coming slowly enough that Michael could have ducked away, but he didn't. Devon wrapped him tightly in a hug. "I am so sorry, Michael."

Michael let himself rest briefly in the grip of the man who had come to be a father figure to him. So much of his life, he had lacked a father ever since the death of his own in early childhood. It was an odd sensation, resting in the strength of somebody older than himself, letting go for just a moment. "I know, Devon," he said softly. "I am, too."

He pulled away finally, and Devon let him go. "See you in the morning," Michael said. He left the office. He went back upstairs to his own room, but after several tours of it without turning on the lights, he picked up his jacket and went outside.

The Foundation grounds were beautifully, flawlessly landscaped. He wandered through the gardens in the dark, thinking. The scent of the flowers hung in the air, and he once again remembered Stevie. The soft turbine whine that joined him eventually had been half expected, and as he walked along in the darkness, he reached a hand back, just behind him, to touch the hood, and the car was there.


End file.
